


pretty ballads hide bastard truths

by crazywineaunt



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grooming, Guilt, Gwent (The Witcher), Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Injury, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Monster Hunters, Monsters, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Romantic Fluff, Scars, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, Witcher AU, witcher damen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazywineaunt/pseuds/crazywineaunt
Summary: “Got a name, sweetheart? Or should I just call you Blondie?”Blondie narrowed his eyes at him.Smooth, Damianos.***Damen loses a game of cards to a beautiful blonde. The rest, as they say, is history.(You don't need to know anything about the Witcher for this, I'll explain most things :) )Side Note: my tags are a lot worse than the actual story :D(AU loosely based on the Witcher Universe - witcher!Damen)
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 85





	1. toss a coin to your witcher

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title is from this song: [Toss a coin to your Witcher](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHgowJ7d33k)
> 
> Thoughts are always welcome in the comments!

A loud groan of defeat rumbled through the inn, making the innkeeper look up from wiping down her bar and frown. Damen’s lip twitched in a fleeting smirk as he pulled the loser’s ring and a respectable amount of ducats towards him. He flicked a coin the innkeeper’s – Halvik, if Damen’s memory served him right – way, who caught it between two fingers and pocketed it. She flashed Damen a gap-toothed grin, the breach of quiet forgotten.

“Another round?” he asked the merchant, shuffling cards back and forth.

The man glared at the witcher through his fingers. He shoved his chair back and stomped off, muttering something along the lines of ‘ _damn cheating witchers_ , _bastards, the lot of them_ ’.

Damen shrugged and gathered up the playing deck along with his newly acquired loot. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the majority of the inn’s occupants had long since cut their losses and gone home (or to a brothel to weep in a welcoming bosom). The merchant had been one of the last people to brave a game of Gwent with him. He had entered this inn broke, but now he could look forward to a hot bath and bread that wasn’t three weeks stale. Hell, he could even get some fresh oats for his mount and still have some coin left over.

A pale hand slamming down on the table broke him out of his dreams of a warm bed. He craned his neck up to meet sapphire eyes boring into his.

“I’ll challenge you to a game, if you’re up to it.”

Damen gave the newcomer a once over. He was a beauty, that was for sure, with those blue eyes and alabaster skin. But past the first glance, he looked like he hadn’t eaten or washed in days. Limp golden waves framed sunken cheeks; growing past his shoulder almost to his waist. Damen’s nose picked up a faint smell of blood and something … else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Scratches and dirt covered most of his body. Attacked by bandits on the road?

There was a sharp, almost feral glint in his eyes as he stared Damen down. He might have taken that look as a challenge to a brawl in anyone else, but it was clear the stranger was still upright purely due to a mix of bravado and adrenaline. His slender frame trembled as Damen considered him. Judging by his worn-out rags, it didn’t look like he had much to bet. But –

He exhaled heavily, and gestured for the man to sit down. He always did have a weakness for blondes (or so he had been told, on multiple occasions, often not in the kindest sense). The man smirked slightly and settled on the chair opposite Damen in one fluid moment, belying his ragged appearance. Damen didn’t question it; he had seen his fair share of contradictions in his lifetime, this wasn’t the strangest by far.

At least he had stopped trembling so hard now that he was sitting down. Halvik looked like she was about to protest the haggard man’s presence in her inn, but a second gold coin shut that down.

“Got a name, sweetheart? Or should I just call you Blondie?”

Blondie narrowed his eyes at him.

 _Smooth, Damianos._ Damen raised his hands defensively. “Blondie it is, then.” He winked at him. “Beautiful though you may be, I don’t play for nothing.”

 _Unless you’re offering yourself._ That part Damen left unsaid, inwardly smacking the part of his mind controlled by his dick. Even if the other man was willing (which he clearly wasn’t), he needed several hot meals and warmer clothes that weren’t falling apart at the seam, before Damen would even consider courting him. He might have a reputation for taking many lovers on his travels, but he wasn’t an animal.

Blondie hesitated for a second before setting his mouth in a determined line and reaching for his right ear. As he brushed gold strands back, Damen noticed a large sapphire earring glinting behind his hair. Blondie unhooked it from his earlobe with one hand, setting it down on the table.

“Will this do?” he said in a clipped tone.

Damen stared at the earring, then at Blondie, then back at the earring. He was no expert jeweler, but this piece alone was probably worth more than the merchant’s ring and sack of ducats combined. But Blondie obviously didn’t know that. And Damen wasn’t one to say no to more gold. A _lot_ more.

“I – I suppose it’ll do.”

Blondie nodded tightly and drew ten cards from the Northern Realms. Damen chose his own faction and hid his grin when he saw his hand. This would be over in minutes.

One hour and several drinks later, a bead of sweat trickled down Damen’s temple as he considered his next move. He was hanging on by a thread as Blondie’s army surrounded him on all sides. Damen could see his fantasies of a hot bath vanishing before his eyes and made one last desperate attempt to keep his troops alive. He looked up at his opponent in mild surprise when he wasn’t immediately destroyed. The other man was frowning at his cards, the calculating gleam in his eyes from when he was destroying Damen long gone. Damen noticed in dismay that he was shaking again, despite being seated. He extended a hand towards him hesitantly.

“Are you –”

“ _I’m fine,_ ” he gritted out, the entire length of his body leaning away from Damen’s hand. He let it fall back down to his side.

Damen opened his mouth to say more when the door banged open, rowdy laughter entering the inn along with an unwelcome blast of cold air. Blondie’s head whipped around, face paling when he saw the soldiers who had entered. He rose rapidly, grabbing his earring.

“I’m afraid I have to cut our game short.” Blondie turned to leave without waiting for a response.

“Wait!”

The man’s spine tensed, but he turned around all the same. Damen pushed his coins and ring forward.

“Take this.”

Blondie’s eyebrows rose.

“I didn’t win.”

“Please. You were about to before we were so rudely interrupted.” Damen gestured in the general direction of the soldiers who had spooked Blondie so badly. They were crowding a mildly annoyed Halvik for drinks, and hadn’t noticed Damen and Blondie in the darkened corner bench yet. Damen hoped the man would ignore his pride and take the money. He needed it a lot more than Damen did.

A tense second passed. Damen tried not to flinch under the icy gaze levelled at him. Finally, something seemed to give in Blondie’s expression. His hand snapped forward and grabbed the coins, retracting just as fast. _Almost like a wild street cat_ , Damen thought wryly.

His next words were so quiet that Damen wouldn’t have caught it without his enhanced witcher senses.

“It’s Laurent.” His lips twisted around his name like he was pulling out teeth.

Damen’s face split into a blinding smile. By the time his brain came up with an adequate response, Laurent was already moving towards the door. Damen noticed for the first time that he was barefoot. Head lowered and face hidden by his hair, he opened the door a crack and slipped outside, unnoticed by the soldiers. Damen sat staring at the door for a few minutes, before shaking his head to clear it of the blonde mystery. He had enough mysteries on his plate to add this one to the shitshow. He shoved his cards in one of his many pockets and got up, brushing off his pants. No one interrupted him this time.

Halvik gave Damen a questioning look as he grabbed his swords, strapping them to his side.

“No room for the night?”, she asked. She placed some mugs on a tray and started pouring ale.

Damen shrugged, grinning cheekily at her. “Lost it all to a pretty face.”

Halvik rolled her eyes. “Of course, you did.”

“Worth every penny.”

Halvik sighed, shaking her head. She finished filling up the last mug and picked the tray up. “I’d be careful out there, I feel a storm comin’.”

Damen nodded gratefully and made for the door. Two thick leather boots planted themselves firmly in Damen’s path before he could reach it. He stopped short, frowning at the soldier blocking his path. His patience for interruptions was running thin as the day wore on.

The soldier was a head shorter than Damen, broad-shouldered with oily hair tied up in a pony-tail. He was wearing the clothing of a captain, with a starburst insignia.

“Heard you was a witcher. Govart, captain of the King’s Guard.” He puffed his chest out and offered a pudgy hand. Damen didn’t take it, fixing the man with a dead-pan look.

“Make it quick.”

Govart retracted his hand, running it through his hair nervously. “Got a job for you. There’s a demon lurking ‘round these parts, murdering the good townsfolk every night.”

Damen considered it. He was still tired from his previous hunt, but he did need the money. Especially after transferring his hard-won Gwent earnings to Laurent. His stomach growled loudly. Well, that settled it.

Govart must have taken his silence for hesitation, because he quickly added, “In advance, I’ll pay you. A hundred ducat.”

Damen considered him. “One fifty.”

Govart acquiesced and shoved a sack of coins into Damen’s hands.

“I’ve no doubt you’ll come through. You take no prisoners, or so I hear,” Govart said, beady eyes glittering.

Damen gave him a terse nod and side-stepped him without waiting for more. The air was heavy with a brewing storm as he stepped out of the inn. He located his horse where he had left him in the stables. As he was tightening his saddle, there was a pregnant pause as the sky held its breath. Then, as if a faucet had been suddenly opened at full force, fat rain drops poured from the sky. Damen soothed his horse after a particularly loud thunderclap and settled in next to it for the night. The sun was setting, the storm clouds leeching away any remaining light. As another lightning bolt lit up the sky, Damen wondered for a moment about the blonde he had met today. Laurent. He hoped the man was under a solid roof tonight, wherever he was. He shuddered to think of him caught out in this storm in his state.

Eventually, Damen nodded off. His dreams that night were plagued with sapphires and blood, forgotten come morning.


	2. wrecked and wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dramatic backstory ™  
> 🪓

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: rape/non-con, grooming, implied violence
> 
> A/N: I’m sorry (not really though ahaha) :D
> 
> Thoughts are always welcome in the comments <3
> 
> Edit: Discontinued for now T_T ;-;

_Eight years ago_

Auguste’s riding boots rang out on the palace’s marble tiles as he opened door after door in search of his brother. The castle was only starting to wake up, a few servants milling about. He was about to give up on this hall as a lost cause when he opened the second to last door to find Laurent sitting on the window sill, still in his sleeping clothes. The early morning light framed his still figure in a soft golden glow. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Auguste would have mistaken him for a statue. A book lay open in his hand, but Laurent’s attention was focused on the courtyard outside.

“Laurent.”

Laurent didn’t look up at his name, keeping his gaze locked outside the window stubbornly. Auguste sighed and walked inside, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. He settled down cross-legged on the floor a few paces from Laurent, silent. He could outwait his little brother every time.

One beat passed.

Two.

Laurent’s lower lip wobbled and he dropped down from the window. Auguste smiled inwardly; it never did take long for Laurent to break first. He settled down next to Auguste, pressing his bony shoulder against Auguste’s side. Auguste pressed back, both brothers taking comfort in each other’s simple familiar warmth. Auguste leaned back on his hands and looked up at the ceiling, watching Laurent closely out of the corner of his eye.

“Not in the mood to go riding with me? Scared you’ll lose again, Lo?,” Auguste said, doing his best to keep his tone light and casual. Laurent never gave up a chance to ride his horse. He knew what this was really about, but to coax it out of his reticent brother was another matter.

Laurent mumbled something under his breath that Auguste didn’t quite catch. He surreptitiously rubbed at his face and turned away. Well, Auguste was having none of that. He shifted so he was directly in Laurent’s line of sight, waiting patiently until Laurent looked him in the eye.

“Lo, you and I both know why I have to go. Father is gravely injured and the troops need someone to lead them," Auguste said. Laurent frowned at him.

“Uncle should go, then. He’s older than you,” Laurent said.

Auguste smiled gently at him. With how book-smart Laurent was, he tended to forget that he was all of twelve years old and didn’t know all the ins and outs of court. 

“Uncle is better at diplomacy. Even now he’s working tirelessly on our foreign relations, sending out letters day and night.”

Laurent gave him a glum look.

“On the bright side, Uncle will be here to keep you company! Maybe you can even convince the old man to race you, if he gets his nose out of his letters long enough,” Auguste added, winking.

Laurent rolled his eyes at him but he was smiling a little now, eyes sparkling. Auguste grinned back. They sat in silence for a while longer, until the sun rose and had been warming their skin long enough to become uncomfortable.

Auguste was about to get up when he noticed Laurent’s shoulders were shaking, head hidden between his knees. Auguste felt his eyes burn in response and he gathered Laurent into a tight hug.

“Gods, you’re making me cry too.”

“M’not crying,” Laurent mumbled.

Auguste hugged him tighter in response. “Of course you aren’t.”

“You better not die,” said Laurent, jabbing his index finger into Auguste’s chest.

Auguste touched his forehead to Laurent’s.

“I swear I won’t die on the battlefield. You can count on it.” Auguste knew everyone’s life was a game of chance in war; death didn’t pick and choose between royalty and a common foot soldier. But he couldn’t bring himself to expose Laurent to that harsh reality.

And Laurent, bless his heart, believed him.

***

Auguste left the next morning, taking a small entourage with him. Laurent wandered the castle listlessly, not knowing what to do with himself. His schedule for the day was clear of any lessons or training, aside from the sword fighting lesson in the morning which just wasn’t the same without Auguste egging him on from the sidelines.

Laurent blinked in mild surprise when he found himself outside his uncle’s room. His feet must have led him here unconsciously. He glanced outside: the sky was dark enough for supper time. He bit his lip. Uncle was a busy man, Auguste had said. He didn’t want to bother him, but... maybe he was taking a break from his work. Hesitantly, he brought up a small hand and knocked lightly on the dark oak door.

“Enter.” came a faint reply. It sounded a little disgruntled. Laurent opened the door a nudge and poked his head in. Uncle was sitting at his desk, frowning at a letter. His frown melted away, replaced by a serene smile when he noticed Laurent.

"Do come in," he said, setting the letter down.

Laurent relaxed at his gentle tone and entered the room, taking the seat his uncle gestured at. He glanced at the letter his uncle had been reading. The name _Damianos_ appeared over and over in the hasty scrawl of whoever had written the letter. He faintly recognized the name from his geography lessons, but he couldn’t quite pin it to a specific person. Curiosity piqued, he leaned over to see more, but his uncle put the letter away before he could get a good look at its actual contents.

Uncle steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on them, sharp blue eyes focused on Laurent. "What brings you to my chambers, Your Highness?" Laurent flushed at the formal address.

“I - I was –”

Laurent’s reply was interrupted by a serving boy entering the room, a silver tray of sweetmeats and pastries balanced on his shoulder. He set the tray down with barely a clink. Uncle’s eyes tracked the boy’s every movement. He bowed low to Laurent, followed by a shallower bow to his uncle before taking his leave. Laurent was momentarily distracted by the colorful array of food laid out in front of him. His stomach growled at the display. Uncle turned his gaze from the serving boy back to him.

“Please, have some. I know you have a sweet tooth,” Uncle said. The ruby on his ring glittered in the candlelight as he gestured at the platter.

Laurent didn’t need any more prompting. He sampled a few pastries while Uncle looked over the remaining letters on his desk, nursing a goblet in his hands. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional sip of wine and a light question about Laurent’s day. Laurent was feeling pleasantly full and drowsy when the clocktower struck nine, it’s bells echoing throughout the castle.

He startled slightly as a cup was pushed into his hands. A heady floral scent wafted from it, almost sickly sweet. His uncle chuckled as he turned wide blue eyes on him.

“Go on, a little wine never hurt me when I was a boy. You must be thirsty after all those pastries.”

Laurent shrugged and sipped tentatively at the cup, gulping it down when the taste didn’t immediately put him off. Uncle’s smile widened just a little at the corners. Laurent smiled back automatically, feeling even more drowsy than before, if that was possible. He shivered when a hand slipped between his shoulder blades, the cold of uncle’s gold ring seeping through his cotton shirt. When had his uncle gotten all the way around his desk? Laurent tried to ask, but his tongue felt strangely fuzzy and heavy. The words died in his mouth, nothing but a low groan coming out. What was he going to say anyway? Grasping at thoughts right now felt like trying to pin down a darting dragonfly. Somewhere between the space of one scattered thought and the next, he felt cold sheets cushioning his bare back. He blinked slowly and tried to lift his head up to look for his shirt. A hand grasped at his hair and pushed him back down with a soft shushing sound.

A hand slipped between his thighs, stroking gently at first before increasing in frequency and force. The edges of Laurent’s vision darkened. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. But it felt good, so good. Confused, aroused, uncomfortable, exhausted, he gave into the unfamiliar sensations.

“Such a beautiful boy…”

***

Laurent woke with his head throbbing and hot stale breath breathing down his neck. A heavy arm was wrapped around his middle, almost possessively. He stared down at it uncomprehendingly. Carefully lifting the arm off, he slipped out of the bed. He scanned the room for his clothes, wrapping thin arms around his shivering body. The fire in the hearth had long since died, cold leeching through the walls. Finally, he located them haphazardly thrown over the bed’s edge. He put them on slowly, methodically lacing together every part until it was immaculate. He shut the door quietly on his way out, stumbling down the corridor with shaking legs. The skin between his legs felt raw, but somehow, he made it to his chambers. The door had barely fallen closed behind him when he fell to his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach all over the soft carpet.

***

Laurent would have liked to say that was the last time he let his uncle touch him. And that was the case for a few weeks, until he realized that his uncle refused to interact with him. It never occurred to him to question why there were no boys his age around the palace. The craving for human contact soon proved to be too much and Laurent caved. Uncle’s soothing words crawled under his skin, worming their way into his brain until he believed every word. He was lonely, this was Uncle’s way of showing him how much he cared. He was beautiful. And he was the most precious thing in the castle. A diamond in the rough. Uncle would help him shine.

***

The war with the southern kingdoms was a bloody and drawn out affair, lasting three years. Father succumbed to his wounds soon after Auguste arrived, leaving his first born to lead the army. Auguste won battle after battle, Uncle’s face darkening with the news of each victory.

While Auguste planned battle strategies and memorized enemy formations, Laurent memorized Uncle’s schedule. He learnt what he liked, what he disliked. He could predict where Uncle was and what he was going to do at any given moment.

What Laurent couldn’t predict was Uncle tossing him aside like a lame warhorse when he turned fifteen.

He entered Uncle’s chambers at exactly a quarter to six, hair done up in a knot how Uncle liked it. He blinked in surprise at the lithe boy lying in the bed, dripping in sapphires. Laurent’s fingertips unconsciously ghosted across his own sapphire earring, a gift from Uncle on his thirteenth birthday. _It brings out your eyes_. The boy’s almond-shaped eyes narrowed at Laurent.

“Your Highness. What are _you_ doing here?” the boy sneered. He spat out the royal address like it was an insult.

Laurent raised a gold eyebrow, the picture of calm and collected while his heart hammered against his rib cage. “I could ask the same of you.” His voice teetered between pre-pubescent high-pitched and broken.

“Ah, Nicaise. You’re already here.” Laurent turned around at his uncle’s voice. Uncle emerged from the adjoining chambers, tying a red velvet robe closed. He was wholly focused on Nicaise, ignoring Laurent’s obvious presence. A thousand questions raced through Laurent’s head but the words died on his tongue as his uncle walked over to Nicaise and ran a hand down his cheek. Nicaise’s eyes fluttered and he leaned into the touch, his gold face paint smearing the older man’s hand. Laurent watched the scene unfold before him in a haze. There was something so wrong about the whole interaction. Nicaise was so _young_ , just like – he slapped a hand over his mouth and walked out of the room as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Realization drenched him like a cold shower and he curled up into a tight ball on the hard marble tiles, shards of the past three years attacking him relentlessly from all directions as he rocked back and forth. His throat constricted as his stomach dropped. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? He refused to let any tears slip; he hadn’t cried since Auguste had left and he wasn’t about to start now.

Faint footsteps reached his ears and he uncurled from his position, breathing deeply and slipping on a cold mask of disinterest. He was the second prince and he couldn’t afford to show any weakness in the court, uncle had taught him that much. Among other things.

The footsteps grew louder as their owner turned the corner. Laurent recognised him from the new cohort of guards-in-training. Govart. His eyes brightened when he spotted the young prince, thudding to a halt. He stumbled and would have fallen if Laurent hadn’t grabbed him. Sparks jolted through his body where his hands touched the guard’s skin.

“Apologies, Your Highness! I bring good news!”, Govart panted.

Laurent crossed his arms. “Yes?”

“King Auguste has returned from the south.”

Laurent’s eyes widened imperceptibly. It was a bit strange that he hadn’t been informed of his brother’s arrival beforehand, but he could think about that later. Auguste was home. Auguste was _home_.

“Where –”

“In the throne room, Your Highness.” Govart said. Laurent frowned at the interruption but he let it slide, brushing past the guard in his hurry. He kept a steady pace until he reached the end of the corridor, at which point he broke into a run. He skidded to a halt in front of the throne room open and rushed inside. The ornate doors slammed shut behind him with more force than usual, followed by the grating of heavy locks. He whipped around, startled by the noise. The guards who usually stood by the door were gone.

“Laurent!”

It had been years since he’d heard that voice. He turned on his heel slowly, taking in Auguste slowly. Rays from the setting sun filtering through the tinted glass, painting him in blue and golden hues. He had changed with time, worry lines etching his face where before they had been none. His eyes were still the same though, sparkling like waves on a sunny day. Auguste rose from the head of the table and spread his arms wide, smiling widely. Laurent’s throat tightened and his own smile slid off his face. He couldn’t face his brother now, not after what he’d done. Auguste’s forehead crinkled in concern when Laurent remained rooted to the spot. He started forward until he was standing toe to toe with Laurent. Laurent looked down. Auguste grasped Laurent’s shoulder but he twisted away, shoulders bowing. Auguste drew back, his expression one of confusion and mild hurt.

“Lo, what’s wrong?”

Tears prickled at Laurent’s eyes and he rubbed at them furiously. He _wouldn’t_ cry.

The silence between the brothers stretched until it was taut with tension. Laurent broke first. He always broke first. He hated the way his voice cracked when he spoke.

“Auguste, I –”

He never got to finish his sentence. Spasms ran through his body at the same moment the sun finally sank below the horizon. He fell to his hands and knees, barely registering Auguste’s surprised shout through the searing pain lancing through his spine. His bones felt like they were elongating in some places, shattering in others. His scalp burned as his hair grew at an alarming pace. An in-human scream ripped its way out of his throat. The last thing he saw was Auguste’s face through red tinted vision before a blood-red haze took over and he knew no more.

***

Laurent came back in bits and pieces, body throbbing and the taste of metallic blood on his tongue. Pitch black darkness enveloped him and when he tried to get up his head bumped into something hard, almost like solid rock. His head spun when he realized he was encased on all sides by stone walls. Judging from the dimensions, it was a coffin. His theory was proved correct when he pushed at the top and the cool stone gave way a little. He pushed harder, ignoring the dull ache in his arms until he pried the top open wide enough for him to escape the coffin’s confines.

He winced as the soles of his bare feet made contact with the freezing ground. He felt like he’d had the strangest nightmare. Most of it had evaporated into the void where most dreams tended to disappear. Flashes of mangled flesh and blood-curdling screams surfaced from the vague memories of what his mind had managed to retain. Laurent wracked his mind in hopes of figuring out how on earth he had gotten here, but so far, he was drawing a blank.

Well, one thing at a time. Immediate survival was the priority here. His training kicked in once he oriented himself. His clothes were torn in places, barely holding themselves together. The only thing that seemed to have survived in one piece was his earring. Laurent smiled without any humor. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of his surroundings. He appeared to be in the dilapidated ruins of an abandoned fort, early dawn light filtering through patches of missing roof.

Picking his way carefully through rubble and broken steps, Laurent made his way out of the building. He stepped out into the outskirts of a small town. At least, it looked like a town from what he could make out. The palace was visible as a glowing dot in the distance. How he had gotten so far from the main city was beyond him. A shiver ran through his body. He really needed to get somewhere warm. Wrapping his arms around himself, Laurent started walking in the general direction of the town.

The town itself was quiet. A little too quiet. Even with the early hour, he expected to see more people bustling around, starting their daily errands. His eyes brightened as he spotted a stable and hurried towards it. He was ten feet from it when the doors burst open, two figures riding out. Laurent withdrew to the shadows; it was best not to be seen in his current state. The riders didn’t see him, but their horses were a different story. They reared back on their hindlegs, snorting when they neared the spot where Laurent was hidden.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into them,” one of the riders grumbled.

“Well, calm them down. We’re already late for the king’s funeral.”

Laurent blinked _. Funeral?_

“The Regent – well, King, now. He’s handling it gracefully. Even offered to step up in these uncertain times.”

The first man shook his head. “Mad, really. Imagine coming home after that bloody war, only to have your brother slash your throat in a fit of madness.” He spat at the ground. “Fucking kinslayer.”

Laurent gripped his head, nails digging into his scalp painfully. This wasn’t real. This was just another nightmare.

 _Sunburnt throat, slashed open with thick claws. Blood spurting out of Auguste’s throat as he fell forward, eyes dimming_.

Bile rose up in his throat, mixing unpleasantly with the blood already there. Shakily, he brought his fingers up in front of his face. They were red.


End file.
